


ship to wreck

by elliptical



Series: helmsman sollux shenanigans [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sgrub Session, Black Romance, Helmsman Sollux Captor, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Quadrant Confusion, Rebellion, Relationship Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 20:31:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8175025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliptical/pseuds/elliptical
Summary: Karkat Vantas attempts to dig to the bottom of what's plaguing his kismesis.Or, politically speaking, the Second Sufferer dismantles his Heiress' helmsman.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i realized i've never written a helmsman sollux fic. what's up with that
> 
> there's a lot of potentially alarming stuff in here with regards to self destructive tendencies, mental health issues, consent, etc - it's intense in places, tread with caution
> 
>  
> 
> _oh, my love, remind me, what was it that i said?_  
>  _i can't help but pull the earth around me to make my bed_  
>  _oh, my love, remind me, what was it that i did?_  
>  _did i drink too much? am i losing touch?_  
>  _did i build this ship to wreck?_  
>  _-ship to wreck, florence and the machine_

Sollux looks dead when you enter the helmsblock, a sacrifice laid out on the proverbial altar. His eyes are closed, his muscles relaxed save the occasional twitch as the machines siphon out his psionics. Temporary rigging isn’t as extensive as permanent, and there’s stark design differences in order to keep the body capable of mobility; he’s laid horizontal on his back rather than vertical, the surface below him resembling a padded exam table more than a metal entrapment from hell. From here, you can’t see the wires slotted into the ports in the spinal column and the back of his neck, even though you know they’re caressing his nervous system. No, he looks like a corpse rather than a helmsman, which somehow manages to be more unnerving.

SYSTEM: lol holy 2hiit you look liike you’re tryiing two pa22 a kiidney 2tone.  
SYSTEM: ii keep telliing you iit’2 a bad iidea two come down here when ii’m workiing. your deliicate con2tiitutiion can’t handle iit  
SYSTEM: tl;dr: gtfo 2crub

You groan and tap into the console against the wall, where the “system” messages are emblazoned against a black background.

> I SEE YOU’RE NOT DEAD.  
SYSTEM: that obnoxiiou2 beepiing noii2e ii2 my viital2 moniitor you fuckiing iidiiot.  
SYSTEM: do you really thiink the 2hiip would ju2t be chiilliin iif the piilot had 2pontaneou2ly combu2ted.  
SYSTEM: ju2t becau2e ii’m not u2iing the meat2pace to wa2te my tiime wiith you doe2n’t mean iit’2 not workiing  
SYSTEM: ju2t mean2 ii can’t be a22ed to put iin the concentratiion requiired two deal wiith your a2iiniine b2 wiithout a bunch of 2ubproce22e2 runniing background iinterference.  
SYSTEM: your real voiice ii2 al2o even more gratiing than my iimagiinary rendiition of your 2houty quiirk.  
> YEAH YEAH ARBITRARY INSULTS, I’M THE WORST, YOU HATE ME, I HATE YOU, WHATEVER.  
> DID IT NOT OCCUR TO YOU THAT I HATE COMING DOWN HERE AS MUCH AS YOU HATE ME COMING DOWN HERE?  
> THAT MAYBE I HAVE A REASON?  
SYSTEM: oh. 2orry.  
SYSTEM: though ii really hope you’re not expectiing help wiith a liife crii2ii2 becau2e ii’m not that committed to quad vaciillatiion and al2o ii’m at work.  
> NO, WE NEED TO UNHOOK YOU EARLY.  
> FEF’S BEEN HAVING POLITICAL ARGUMENTS BEHIND CLOSED DOORS ALL NIGHT AND DOESN’T SEEM TO BE STOPPING ANYTIME SOON, AND SINCE YOU’RE DEVOID OF OTHER QUADRANTS I GOT SENT DOWN TO TELL YOU.  
SYSTEM: why tf would you need two 2end a quadrantmate two tell me a 2hiift ha2 two end early??  
SYSTEM: ii2 thii2 2ome new 2abotage, triick me iinto doiing my job badly 2o that ii get repriimanded by my giirlfriiend and you get two look 2mug?  
SYSTEM: iif there wa2 2ome 2ort of emergency on the 2hiip ii would’ve been notiifiied by one of the briidge crew and iif there wa2 2ome 2ort of bodiily malfunctiion ii a22ure you ii’d know about iit.  
> ZAHHAK COMPARED YOUR PHYSICAL READOUTS TO LAST PERIGREE’S. YOUR BODY’S SHOWING SIGNS OF UNDUE STRESS. HE WANTS YOU TO SHORTEN YOUR SHIFTS AND TAKE MORE TIME TO REST.  
SYSTEM: uh huh. zahhak doe2.  
> YEP.  
SYSTEM: bull2hiit, zahhak doe2n’t giive a 2hiit about the meat2pace, he’2 tech. be2iide2 fef can briing me back iif ii have a meltdown, iit’2 not fuckiing rocket 2ciience. ii have work two do.  
> THEN CLOCK INTO YOUR HUSKTOP AND WORK ON IT ONCE YOU’RE WALKING AGAIN.  
SYSTEM: you read the viital2 and fliipped out and got zahhak to 2iign off on thii2 becau2e he’2 a dumb iidiiot who love2 caviing two lowblood2.  
SYSTEM: ii can’t beliieve you’d 2o cruelly take advantage of hiim being horny all the tiime wtf.  
SYSTEM: ii’m not gettiing back iin the body.  
> WHY NOT.  
SYSTEM: diid ii fuckiing stutter?  
SYSTEM: ii’m BU2Y.  
> GO BACK TO BEING BUSY TOMORROW.  
SYSTEM: ii’ll be done beiing bu2y when my 2hiift ii2 up, iin three hour2 and fiifty-two miinutes.  
SYSTEM: and thiirty-eiight 2econd2.  
SYSTEM: gtfo.  
> GET BACK IN YOUR FUCKING BODY, SOLLUX.  
SYSTEM: no.  
> YES.  
SYSTEM: no.  
> YES.  
SYSTEM: no.  
> YES.  
SYSTEM: no.  
> I’LL COMMAND OVERRIDE.  
SYSTEM: no you won’t.  
> YES I WILL.  
SYSTEM: no you won’t, you’ll waiit for zahhak two do iit liike a coward, a22umiing he’2 comiing down here at all and you aren’t ju2t full of iit.  
SYSTEM: you know command overriidiing would pii22 me off iin a bad way 2o you won’t do iit untiil ii’m liiterally dyiing whiich new2fla2h: ii am not. BEEP BEEP BEEP that’2 my viital2 moniitor pluckiing away liike the liittle helm2man that could.  
SYSTEM: maybe iif you eat me out ii’ll deiign to return to the body long enough to call you an iidiiot wiith my wetware vocal cord2.  
SYSTEM: becau2e ii’m a romantiic.  
SYSTEM: you’d have to do a really good job though.  
> YEAH, LET’S RUIN THE RIGGING AND RUN THE RISK OF ELECTROCUTING YOU SO THAT YOU CAN FULFILL YOUR FANTASY OF GETTING LAID WITHOUT EVEN HAVING TO BE CONSCIOUSLY PRESENT.  
> IT’S A STEP UP FROM GETTING TIED UP FOR THE SAKE OF JUST LYING THERE.  
SYSTEM: oh liike you’re not iinto thii2.  
SYSTEM: look, 2ollux’2 body ii2 ju2t 2tuck there, unmoviing, he can’t even u2e hii2 p2iioniic2, iit 2ure would be an iintere2tiing challenge two wake hiim up when he doe2n’t have the advantage of beiing able two pu2h me off.  
SYSTEM: hawt.  
> HOLY SHIT, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?  
SYSTEM: ok 2iince you diidn’t ju2t pop a wiiggly ii’m goiing two go wiith “that wa2 a joke.”  
SYSTEM: that’2 a plau2iible cover riight.  
> DID YOU REALLY THINK I WAS GOING TO.  
SYSTEM: uh. ye2?  
SYSTEM: no one would 2o 2taunchly avoiid the helm2block unle22 they were tryiing to hiide theiir 2uper depraved helm2man kiink.  
SYSTEM: iit’2 cool. your 2ecret ii2 2afe wiith me.  
SYSTEM: thii2 conver2atiion 2uddenly got fucked up and #2real, how diid that happen  
SYSTEM: we 2hould bang away the awkwardne22  
> RIGHT, GOD FORBID I AVOID THIS PLACE BECAUSE SEEING YOU IN STASIS FREAKS ME THE FUCK OUT AND THE FACT THAT YOU SPEND SO MUCH TIME HERE IS NAUSEATING TO BEGIN WITH AND I’D REALLY LIKE TO HANG ONTO DENIAL.  
SYSTEM: well that 2ound2 an awful lot liike 2omethiing iin the va2t drawer of ii22ue2 labeled “not actually my problem.”  
SYSTEM: 2iince the drawer of thiing2 labeled “actually my problem” ii2 pretty full could you keep thii2 one two your2elf, ii don’t care how you feel about my job.  
> I’M DOWN HERE BECAUSE YOU’RE ALWAYS WEIRD ABOUT INTERRUPTED SHIFTS, IT TAKES FOREVER TO GET YOUR PAN ALIGNED RIGHT.  
SYSTEM: 2o maybe you 2houldn’t be telliing zahhak two end my 2hiift2 early.  
> I REALLY DIDN’T.  
> YOUR BODY’S IN BAD SHAPE.  
SYSTEM: bad enough that ii can’t fiinii2h thii2 2hiift wiithout keeliing over?  
> YOU DON’T NEED TO FINISH THE SHIFT.  
> WE’RE IN DEEP SPACE, THERE’S NO OTHER CRAFTS AROUND FOR LIGHT SWEEPS, THE BACKUP ENGINES ARE CHARGED, WE DON’T HAVE ANYWHERE WE NEED TO BE.  
> MEANWHILE YOU *DO* NEED TO REST, YOUR BLOODPUSHER IS STRESSED AND YOU’RE SHOWING SIGNS OF MUSCLE WASTING. THAT LAST ONE IS PROBABLY JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE SLACKING ON PHYSICAL THERAPY BUT THE PUSHER THING IS CONCERNING.  
SYSTEM: you and zahhak ju2t liike iin2tant gratiifiication.  
SYSTEM: you 2aiid your2elf my pan doe2n’t react well to early ended 2hiift2.  
> SO I CAME DOWN HERE TO LET YOU KNOW, SO YOU’D HAVE TIME TO START CONCENTRATING ON YOUR BODY AGAIN AND THE TRANSITION WOULDN’T BE SO ROUGH.  
SYSTEM: tell zahhak ii’m fiinii2hiing my 2hiift.  
SYSTEM: he can flutter and fret iin three hour2 thiirty-niine miinute2 and twenty-2even 2econd2.  
> WHAT ARE YOU DOING THAT’S SO IMPORTANT?  
SYSTEM: ii have niine hundred eiighty-four 2ubproce22e2 runniing riight now, do you want me two lii2t them all.  
> THERE’S NO WAY ALL OF THOSE REQUIRE ACTIVE SUPERVISION. THEY’LL KEEP RUNNING FINE IF YOU’RE NOT HOOKED IN.  
SYSTEM: ii have two dozen codiing project2 open, ii’m checkiing the la2t actiive locatiion2 of the clo2e2t 2hiip2 to gauge theiir chance2 of 2tumbliing acro22 our radar and the chance2 they’ll be friiendly iif they do, ii’m lookiing through crew communiicatiion2 two make 2ure no one’2 a 2ecret traiitor, ii’m pokiing at weak 2pot2 iin the old empiire’2 network, and ii’m lookiing up porn.  
SYSTEM: piick one hundredth of a facet of one of tho2e thiing2 and you have a piicture of what ii can accomplii2h iin meat2pace.  
SYSTEM: 2o are you goiing two contiinue iinterrogatiing me about my u2efulne22 or can ii DO MY JOB.  
> I WASN’T TALKING ABOUT YOUR USEFULNESS  
> WAIT  
> ARE YOU GOING THROUGH MY COMMUNICATIONS?  
SYSTEM: lmao why.  
SYSTEM: 2omethiing two hiide?  
SYSTEM: plot twii2t: the cullbaiit mutant prophet’2 de2cendant ii2 the mole  
> WE HAVE A MOLE?  
SYSTEM: I JUST FEEL LIKE I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING, THERE’S SO MANY PEOPLE LOOKING TO ME LIKE I HAVE ANSWERS JUST BECAUSE OF MY BLOOD AND I’M FLOUNDERING. WHICH I GUESS IS HOW FEFERI FEELS. HATS OFF FOR HAVING SOMETHING IN COMMON WITH THE HEIRESS.  
> YOU SON OF A BITCH.  
> THAT’S A PRIVATE CONVERSATION!  
SYSTEM: yeah iit would be a 2hame iif your kii2me2ii2 2aw what you tell your moiiraiil he miight get the iimpre22iion you’re all 2ad and vulnerable.  
SYSTEM: don’t worry. you 2tiill appall and dii2gu2t me, al2o you’re nothiing liike ff.  
> WE BOTH HAVE BAD TASTE IN MEN.  
SYSTEM: ok ii defiiniitely opened my2elf up for that one.  
SYSTEM: ii’ll come 2ee you WHEN MY 2HIIFT II2 OVER, iin the meantiime 2ee iif you can get wrii2t deep iin your nook or 2omethiing  
> WHILE YOU WATCH ON THE SECURITY CAMERAS.  
SYSTEM: ii mean iif you don’t bother two turn them off ii’m pretty 2ure you want me watchiing.  
> YOU’RE A PIECE OF SHIT, CAPTOR.  
> FINE.  
> BE IN MY BLOCK A HALF HOUR AFTER YOU’RE DONE RECALIBRATION. DON’T BE LATE.  
SYSTEM: ye22ir.  
SYSTEM: HAH!  
SYSTEM: that one get2 a phy2iical reactiion  
> EAT SHIT.  
SYSTEM: lol 

You tell Equius that Sollux has insisted on finishing his shift and return to your block before you realize that once again, Sollux has gotten you to do exactly what he wants. And you’ve gotten nothing out of it. God damn. There’s no point being black for the guy if you fold just as fast to his whims as his matesprit. You need to step up your game, and you need to get revenge for his going through your comms, except if you do then he’ll find a new and inventive way to cross your boundaries in an attempt to one-up you, so. Telling him to cut that shit out. Apparently that’s a better plan.

Sollux arrives at your block twenty-five minutes after his recalibration - the series of tests he has to take clocking out to make sure his pan is still wired correctly to his body. Ordinarily it’s a ten minute procedure akin to testing a troll’s responses for soporifics ingestion. The few times he’s needed to be released early because of physical or maintenance issues, recalibration was a lengthy ordeal of slowed reflexes and auditory processing problems, and the hazy sluggishness didn’t wear off for hours.

Fuck. You _hate_ the helm, and he doesn’t even care what it does to him, and that just makes you hate him more. When he enters, freshly showered and scrubbed free of grease and sweat, his hair still damp, you’ve worked yourself into a fury that burns like pitch and stings like worry.

“Mind explaining what the fuck any of that was about?” you say.

Sollux wraps his arms around you and kisses down your jaw, his teeth scraping your skin, threatening viciousness without fully delivering. “I hate you,” he says.

“Yes,” you say, “if only we could put all of your issues down to you hating me, we’d have a way easier time with literally everything around here, maybe I could finally get some sleep -” except he slides his knee between your legs and you lose your train of thought.

“I hate you,” he tells you like a promise, an affirmation, and the fury in you rises to answer it. He presses you against the wall, kisses your neck when you let your head fall back, gasping. His hands slide under your shirt and his fingertips do a crackly thing with psionics that doesn’t hurt so much as pulse, a reminder that he’s strong enough to fuck you without needing to touch you, that his skin is an _acquiescence_ , and the urge to rake your claws down his back almost overpowers your need to like. Talk.

Almost. “Sollux,” you say.

“Say it _back_ ,” he snarls, and under the pitch fury there’s an edge of something more frantic.

“Sollux, _stop_.”

To his credit, he does stop. He’s always stopped when you’ve told him to, and the same is true now - he releases his grip and steps back and holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender. You take a good look at him, this man who makes you want to tear the world down to spite him, and decide you’re not getting laid anytime soon. He’s swaying.

“Recalibration go okay?” you say.

His eyes flare brighter. “You’ve had enough of the helm for one night.”

“Did it?”

“Yes, I’m _fine_ , I’m always fine, you fucking asshole.”

You tilt your head. He’s discarded his uniform, dressed in a plain button-down shirt he knows you like and a nondescript pair of pants. His feet are bare. His hair is still wet. He makes a point of not dressing up for you, which means he had an agenda, and more importantly - you tally the minutes in your head. If recalibration ended at the usual time, he took three minutes to return to his block, at least twelve to scrub himself clean in the shower, five to find clothes you like, five to get here.

“You didn’t eat,” you say.

“Wasn’t hungry.”

You point to your reclining platform. “Sit.”

“What, is this a new form of foreplay, you’re gonna get off on me following your orders and…” Sollux sways again, a hell of a lot more noticeably, and gives up on finishing the sentence. “Okay.”

You watch him like a cranky mediculler until he’s situated on the platform with a blanket, and then you step into your small nutrition block. It’s nothing like the main galley of the ship, but it’s good for storing snacks, and you know the food in here hasn’t been poisoned. You rifle through the cupboards for a block of dry pasta and set a pot of water on to boil.

“Don’t fucking feed me,” Sollux mumbles. “I don’t want to owe you.”

“You’ll owe me harder if you faint on my carpet. Four times as hard if you crack your skull and bleed everywhere. I like my carpet, Sollux. It’s a good carpet.” At least your kismesis’ complete inability to take care of himself can keep you on task. “You don’t have a nutritional shunt, you barely get enough fluids when you’re helming - you shouldn’t be taking eight hour shifts at all, temp rigging isn’t _designed_ for full time work, that’s why it’s _called_ temp rigging, and you can’t just not eat afterward!”

“I forgot,” he says, which would be pitiful if not for the offhanded tone, like he didn’t finish a stack of arbitrary paperwork. “My bad.”

“You could _die_.”

“My vitals are fine.”

“You’re underweight!”

“You’re not a fucking helmstech,” he snaps. “Zahhak says I’m fit to helm, and his opinion is the only one that actually counts.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“Yeah. We’re gonna take a perigree out here, stay hidden so I can rest. Have no fear, I’m going to waste plenty of time laying around being a lump.”

You try to mask your surprise, pouring the noodles into the now-boiling pot. “You’re not going to helm at all?”

“Once a week. Twice if there’s backup in the systems. Just for a perigree.”

“Oh.” You stir the noodles, glad to be able to focus on the pot instead of him. “You’re not happy about it, though.”

“No, I am not.”

“You washed off the helm stench and came over in clean clothes so we could fuck and you wouldn’t have to think about it.”

“And somehow, like so many other things, you even managed to ruin that.” Sollux’s voice is acid, bad anger, the kind of tone he adopts when he’s looking to harm rather than needle. “I don’t know why I bother looking for anything from you.”

“You sabotaged yourself by not eating,” you point out. “If we’d pailed, you would have passed out in the middle of it.”

“I can pail fine.”

“You can’t do anything,” you say, and it comes out just as mean as he’s trying to be, and regret instantly drags you down. Sollux doesn’t outwardly react, but tension opens between you.

“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry, that was too far,” you amend, like it was a flirtation gone awry.

“You’re not wrong,” he says, conversational.

“Do _not_ turn this into a downward spiral of self-loathing. All I’m saying is it wouldn’t fucking kill you to try to take care of yourself once in a while. In fact, it might save your literal fucking life. Are you aiming to have a cardiac arrest while you’re helming? You might as well move your belongings into the medbay considering that’s where you seem to want to live.”

You turn off the water and scoop the pasta into a bowl, adding salt and pepper and bringing it over. You’re not wasting complex cooking effort on him, and since he grew up on energy drinks and protein bars, you doubt he’ll care if it’s under-seasoned.

Sollux doesn’t respond to you until he’s halfway through the pasta. Finally, pushing the fork around like he’s forgotten how to use it, he says, “FF can bring me back.”

“What?”

“Anything that happens to the meat. Cardiac arrest, psionic burnout, pan damage, physical burns, whatever. If she gets to me in time I won’t die. So it doesn’t really matter.”

“Are you… trying to burn yourself out faster than she can bring you back?”

“What? No. Don’t be stupid, I’m not suicidal. That’s the point. You’re all worked up worrying I’m gonna kick off and you won’t have anyone left to screw. But I’m not. So get off my fucking case.” He shoves another forkful of pasta in his mouth, almost defiant about it. “‘Sides, I told you I’m not helming for a perigree.”

“Because Equius revoked your privileges.”

He smiles at you, but it’s wrong and twisted and bitter, a rictus grin on a dead man’s face. “I love being told what to do.”

\---

There’s something wrong with your relationship.

The problem is you don’t know what.

It’s especially infuriating because you’re supposed to be the romance master. You think you have an intimate enough understanding of all four quadrants, and fuck knows you’ve been called in to mediate enough pitch and almost-pitch crew conflicts. Crew members are fucking idiots who never know how to solve their own problems. All it ever takes are a few compromises and explanations and everything sorts itself.

So you know how the pitch quadrant works. Sollux is the first serious pitchmate you’ve had in… basically ever, and you’ve been dancing around a messy quadrant vacillation flirtation since you were five. You know each other better than you know yourselves. You know how to get under each other’s skin, you know how to push each other in competitive fury, you know how to trade off power and submission so you both get what you want. You _care_ about each other - or at the very least you care about him, in a way that makes you sick with worry and tension. You’re supposed to make each other better.

You don’t think you’ve screwed up, either, at least not in any major way. You don’t violate his privacy, you don’t push his boundaries, you don’t do shit to make him truly angry unless he provokes you first. You drive him crazy, yeah, but that’s the _point_ , and yet whenever you’re together your stomach hurts. You don’t know how to reach him when his hackles go up at anything other than a calibrated attack, when he acts like being cared for is a more offensive slight than having his autonomy violated.

You don’t think you’ve screwed up, and you’re giving your all to the relationship, so it stands to reason there’s something wrong with your kismesis.

You still don’t know what.

You only talk to Kanaya about him out loud, in the privacy of either of your blocks with the security cameras safely switched off. There’s not a passcode Sollux can’t crack or a firewall he can’t bring down, especially with the ship’s entire processing power at his disposal. The fact that you have to go to such lengths to keep him out of your fucking business is kind of ridiculous, but whatever.

“It’s like he doesn’t care,” you tell her as she repairs the hem of one of her skirts, her fingers moving with methodical precision. “It’s like he doesn’t give a fuck about me or how I feel or how anyone else feels.”

“Perhaps he thinks you find it attractive,” she says mildly.

“I don’t.”

“Does he know that?”

“He knows I don’t like it.”

“Perhaps he thinks doing things you don’t like is an effective way of maintaining your feelings for him.”

“He’s not that stupid.”

“Hmm.” Kanaya’s fingers never falter. You’re pretty sure she has a sewing machine that could mend the skirt’s tear in fifteen seconds, but she prefers the calming repetition of individual stitches. You figure it’s soothing - it soothes you just to watch her. “He doesn’t have a moirail, does he?”

“Not unless he’s got some secret palemate he’s not telling anyone about.”

“Hmm.”

“You know, humming isn’t really helpful.”

“I am waiting for you to finish venting.”

“He told me - he said that it was stupid for me to worry about him because Feferi can pull him back from the brink of death, like I’m only worried he’s going to die. I didn’t know what the fuck to say to him. He would have twisted anything I _did_ say.”

“It sounds like you’re having communication issues.”

“Because every time I bring up anything serious he distracts me!”

Kanaya ties off her thread and sets the newly-mended skirt aside. “Come over here. Let me brush your hair.”

You huff through your nose, but you do as you’re told, because there’s nothing more calming in this world than Kanaya’s fingers stroking your hair. She pulls a comb out of her bag as you settle, your back to her chest, her throat rumbling softly as she sets to work on your tangles.

“Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

“Mmm. It may not be prudent for me to speculate on the problems plaguing my moirail’s kismesis.”

“Oh please. Like you care what’s prudent.”

She laughs a little, affectionately tweaking one of your horns. “I think an auspistice may do you both wonders, if you want to stay in the relationship.”

“Of course I want to stay in the relationship.”

“I assumed you would not spend so much time venting to me if you didn’t.”

“Do you - wait, do you think I should break up with him?”

“Not necessarily.” One section of hair now tangle-free, she runs the comb through the roots, massaging your scalp. You tip your head back and chirr. “I think he’s conducting himself very similarly to how I did when I was younger, before I learned better.”

You let out a derisive snort. “Believe me, you’re nothing like Sollux.”

“I used to become cold with people when their feelings didn’t mirror what I wanted,” she muses. “Whether they’d truly done something to deserve it or not. I would push them away after perceived rejections because no contact seemed less painful. Jealousy is a powerful force if you allow it to take hold of you.”

“You were jealous because you were a kid and you didn’t know what you were doing, I think it’s forgivable,” you say, nudging your head into her hand. “You’re a good person.”

She sets the comb aside and noses between your horns, inhaling deeply. You do her the courtesy of pretending she’s not thinking you smell like chocolate cake. “I’m fairly pleased with who I am now, yes,” she says. “For the most part, at least. But we were speaking about you.”

“You think Sollux is jealous?”

“It’s possible.”

“We’re literally in a relationship already, though. The fuck does he have to be jealous of?”

“Nothing, unless he isn’t truly black for you.”

You entertain the notion for about ten seconds, the absurd thought that Sollux might be waxing red or pale for you. Either would make enough sense - fury at himself for feeling red when he’s committed to Feferi, fury at you for having a moirail. But you’re also thinking about the number of sweaters he’s shredded through with psi and the number of times he’s pinned you to your reclining platform to watch you beg and the frantic undercurrent in his voice when he said _I hate you, I hate you, say it back_ , and yeah, the evidence is pretty far stacked against un-black shenanigans.

“He’s definitely black for me,” you say.

“And are you truly black for him?”

You consider that too, the idea that maybe you got so caught up in your relationship’s definition that you lost your grip on your actual feelings. Thinking about him makes a hard knot of worry form at the base of your throat, but it also makes your chest tight with anger, your fingers itch for a fight. Sollux is blazing adrenaline. You want to tear him to pieces and then you want to put him back together again with a pan that ticks right and a body capable of slowing down. You want to _fix_ him. You want him to fix _himself_. You want to bite his grubscars until he screams.

“Yeah,” you say. “Wow, yep. Yeah. I’m pretty black for him, yep, that’s a thing.”

“Then find yourself an ashen leaf. Hmm. He sounds like he needs a moirail.”

You crane your neck so that you can squint suspiciously at her. “You’re gonna meddle, aren’t you.”

“When have I ever meddled in anything, ever, in my entire life?”

“You’re impossible,” you say.

She smooches your cheek.

\---

You make it through a week before there’s another fuckup.

Feferi isn’t the Empress yet. Her lusus demands there only be an Empress and an Heiress at any given time, and that the Heiress challenge the Empress in a fight to the death to gain her power. Her lusus has never put a specific timestamp on the challenge. Traditionally Heiresses would face off with the Empress planetside after molting, unused to their new adult bodies, clumsy with their weapons regardless of the amount of training they’ve had. Easy prey.

No one ever said the Heiress couldn’t steal a starship, raise an army, divide the Empire, and cause the Empress a huge fucking headache before issuing the formal challenge. War is a challenge all by itself, anyway. A hell of a lot more destabilization and bloodshed than a quick culling, sure, but a much higher chance of success. Fef would be a tyrian splat on the hard Alternian ground and the rest of you would be dead or worse if she hadn’t broken tradition.

This ship isn’t the one you started with. It’s bigger, faster, with upgraded engines and weapons systems. It’s not the size of the Battleship Condescension, but it’s a fearsome warship regardless. You’re reasonably sure Fef is going to trade it in for something built from scratch once she has the resources - you just can’t linger in one place long enough to build the Empress a mobile city.

Your job is to root out sympathizers through whatever means possible, because you’re good at talking rationally if you’re given the chance. Sometimes it happens through invoking your ancestor, sometimes through challenging illogical morals, and sometimes through an old-fashioned “I can give you more than the enemy” negotiation.

You’re poking little holes in the bedrock of the old Empire, because if you poke enough then it’ll crumble. It’s tedious work, and frustrating more often than not, but at least victory feels like you’re making a real difference. You’re too busy to spend all your time fretting about your quadrants, so when you can’t find Sollux, at first you aren’t worried. It’s a big ship.

You figured he’d be moping about letting his body do things like “rest” and “heal” and “not give out from undue strain,” so you brought a movie to his block during one of your breaks. When you can’t find him there, you check the medbay, and then you check the rec center, and then you check the galley. It’s then, once you’ve gone through his most common haunts, that you start to worry.

“Hey, have you seen Sollux Captor?” you ask a passing olive. She gives you a blank look, so you add, “The ship’s main helmsman?”

“He’ll be down in the helm, won’t he?”

He’s not _supposed_ to be. He did his data checkups yesterday, a two hour allotment of time that he kept complaining wasn’t long enough. Somehow he managed to do his job properly when Equius didn’t budge, because he’s full of shit one hundred percent of the time, but…

You pull out your palmhusk.

CG: WHERE’S SOLLUX.  
CT: D→ Ah  
CT: D→ I assure you he is safe  
CG: THAT’S A STATE OF BEING, NOT A LOCATION.  
CG: TELL ME WHERE THE FUCK HE IS.  
CT: D→ Do not speak to me with that tone  
CT: D→ Captor is in good hands  
CG: IS HE DOING A SHIFT?  
CT: D→ Yes  
CG: DID SOMETHING HAPPEN?  
CG: ARE WE IN DANGER? FEF DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING TO ME, SHOULD I BE WORRIED?  
CT: D→ I do not believe we are in active danger  
CT: D→ Perhaps it would behoove you to calm down  
CG: WOW. ARE YOU REALLY FUCKING GOING TO TELL ME TO CALM DOWN.  
CG: EQUIUS ZAHHAK, FUCKLORD EXTRAORDINAIRE, POMPOUS CASTEIST MECHANIC OF THE GREAT GALAXY, SWEATY ASSMASTER WHO WOULDN’T KNOW A GOOD TROLL IF THEY SMACKED HIM OVER THE FACE WITH THEIR BENEVOLENCE, IS TELLING *ME* TO CALM DOWN.  
CG: YOU KNOW I WAS FEELING PRETTY CALM BUT NOW I THINK I’M GOING TO RUN NAKED DOWN THE HALLS SCREAMING AND TRYING TO RIP OFF MY OWN BULGE, THANKS FOR THE TIP.  
CT: D→ Do not do that  
CG: WHY IS SOLLUX HELMING?  
CT: D→ The Heiress neighed to override my orders  
CT: D→ I mean neighed  
CT: D→ Deigned  
CG: WHAT THE FUCK, WHY?  
CG: WHAT DID SHE SAY TO YOU?  
CT: D→ I do not believe I should divulge confidential information  
CG: I RANK HIGHER THAN YOU.  
CT: D→ Oh  
CG: YEAH. I’M PULLING RANK ON YOU.  
CG: I GIVE ENOUGH OF A SHIT ABOUT THIS TO PUT UP WITH YOU PUDDLING ON WHATEVER MACHINERY YOU’RE TINKERING WITH.  
CG: TELL ME.  
CG: THAT’S AN ORDER.  
CT: D→ Oh  
CT: D→ Goodness  
CG: OH MY FUCKING GOD, DO NOT DO THIS TO ME RIGHT NOW.  
CG: JUST ANSWER THE QUESTION.  
CT: D→ She believed that the risks were minor considering her particular abilities  
CT: D→ I could not fully disagree  
CT: D→ With diet changes and increased physical therapy Captor should be stable to work without risking cardiac arrest  
CG: SHE TOLD YOU TO SCHEDULE HIM?  
CT: D→ She ordered a reassessment and rescheduling  
CT: D→ With changes to allow greater manureverability of the temp rigging  
CG: WHAT KIND OF CHANGES?  
CT: D→ Two four hour shifts rather than one eight hour  
CT: D→ My communications keep me consistently updated on Captor’s condition  
CT: D→ He is fine  
CG: DID HE SEEM UPSET WHEN YOU TOLD HIM HE WAS RESCHEDULED?  
CG: OR WHEN YOU HOOKED HIM UP?  
CT: D→ I do not concern myself with the trivial emootions of lowb100ds  
CG: FUCKING HELL, IT’S A YES OR NO QUESTION.  
CT: D→ He was not noticeably perturbed  
CT: D→ His demeanor was not dissimilar from his usual demeanor when I install him  
CG: OKAY. THANKS FOR THE INFO.

You’re suddenly pretty sure you know what’s wrong with Sollux.

You’re going to kill Feferi.

 _He thought I would want to hurt him while he was hooked up_ , you think, frantic, breaking into a sprint, _what, what, because if his matesprit’s into it then why not his kismesis_ -

You’re not sure if you’re going down to the helm or up to the conference suites until you register the ache in your legs that comes from stair climbing. Your pusher is pounding so hard it might stop, the adrenaline rush electrifying you to the tips of your fingers, you are fire and you might actually kill her, wrap your hands around her throat until the light dies from her eyes

except you can’t kill the Heiress without killing hope, not just hope for you or hope for Sollux but hope for every bedraggled troll you’ve made cast their lot with you, you’re so stupid, you’re so fucking stupid, and you’d never get through killing her anyway she’s friendly and sweet but there’s vicious seadweller instinct underneath that and you’d never make it

You burst into the conference room where she’s deep in conversation with some delegate on a telescreen, your chest heaving. “We need to talk.”

Feferi turns, her brows knit together with concern, her eyes sparkling in the light. The delegate, a seadweller decorated in military uniform, looks like he’s swallowed sour milk.

“This is an important call,” she says.

“It’s an emergency.”

“I’m very shore-y,” she says, turning back to the screen and beaming at the delegate, all friendly eyes and sharp teeth. “I’ll call you right back.”

Once the screen’s powered down, she tilts her head. “What’s the matter, Karcrab? How bad is it? That was an official of Nelkion, they’re conseadering switchfin allegiances…”

“Sollux,” you say, too out-of-breath to manage more.

It’s almost remarkable how fast she moves. His name has barely left your lips before she’s darting forward, like she knows what you’re thinking, like she knows what you know - and then she’s bolting past you, yanking off her shoes so she can run faster. She’s out the door and halfway down the hall in three seconds, which is how long it takes for you to realize what she thinks and call, “Fef, wait!”

You race into the hallway after her, but she’s already entering the stairwell, diving down the steps like gravity itself must bend to her whim.

“Feferi!” you shout. Fuck, you’re too winded for this. “Stop, stop, he’s okay, he’s not hurt! He’s stable!”

When you reach the top of the stairs, you find her clutching a stitch in her side and leaning against the railing. “What happened?”

“He’s okay, he didn’t - he’s not hurt.”

“Did somefin malfunction?”

“No, he’s okay, he’s okay.”

She sinks down on the steps, leaning against the railing, her hands trembling. The fear in her face is genuine - _she doesn’t want to lose him, she loves him_ \- and that’s surprising enough to dissipate some of the rage. The feral wrath recedes, leaving behind the anger you can deal with, the anger that lets you sway colonies to your side.

“What’s the emergency, then?” she asks.

“You,” you say, taking a deep breath to steady the shaking in your voice, “fucked up.”

“What?”

“You _fucked him up._ ”

She drags a hand down her face. “Karkat, does anyfin require my attention right now? Nelkion exports a huge chunk of the Empire’s livestock, if I can’t…”

“I do! I need your attention!”

“Is there anyfin I can do about what you’re upset aboat now?”

“You can _explain yourself_.”

“I can explain myshellf later too. Karkat, I will speak to you aboat whatever you need to talk aboat, but after I’m done with my meeting.”

You are furious. You are also unable to find words to explain why she needs to speak to you right at this very second, especially considering Nelkion is a pivotal colony and the piece of you that still has room to care about politics understands the importance of the meeting. Feferi watches you for a moment and then, because you’re speechless with indignation, gets to her feet and walks back up the stairs.

You let her go.

Unfortunately, you can’t decide what to do while you wait, frenetic with useless energy. You could stomp down to the Helmsblock and try to talk to Sollux, except you don’t trust yourself not to burst into tears if you have to face him plugged in. Eventually you curl up on the dirty landing and pull out your palmhusk again.

CG: I MIGHT GET STABBED WITHIN THE HOUR.  
CG: JUST A HEADS UP.  
GA: What  
GA: Why  
CG: I DON’T WANT TO SAY MORE UNTIL I HAVE CONCRETE INFORMATION, EVERYTHING IS REALLY REALLY FUCKED UP RIGHT NOW AND HAS SOME FUCKED UP POLITICAL IMPLICATIONS.  
CG: I’M KIND OF FREAKING THE FUCK OUT IN EVERY WAY POSSIBLE.  
GA: Where Are You  
CG: IRRELEVANT.  
GA: I Will Be Furious If You Die Without Imparting Vital Information  
GA: Tell Me Where You Are  
GA: I Will Come Protect You  
CG: HAHA NO I’M JUST BEING DRAMATIC EVERYTHING’S FINE.  
CG: TOTALLY FINE!!  
CG: I’M GREAT EVERYTHING’S GREAT.  
GA: Karkat  
CG: EVERYTHING’S GREAT!  
GA: Can You Come To My Block  
CG: UH, I DON’T KNOW, PROBABLY YEAH.  
CG: YEAH I CAN PROBABLY MOVE.  
GA: Are You Under Arrest  
CG: NOT YET.  
GA: I Hope You Realize That Is Less Than Promising

Another chat blinks in the corner of your screen, and you groan.

TA: what the hell ii2 goiing on.  
CG: I GUESS IT WAS TOO MUCH TO HOPE FOR THAT YOU DON’T CHECK THIS ACCOUNT.  
CG: OR THAT YOU’D HAVE THE DECENCY NOT TO HACK MY PRIVATE COMMS.  
CG: AGAIN.  
TA: do you know who the mole ii2?  
CG: SO THERE IS A MOLE.  
TA: no.  
CG: NO. I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING. I’M PRANKING KANAYA.  
TA: prankiing kanaya.  
CG: YEAH I’M TRYING TO SEE WHAT’LL HAPPEN IF SHE’S AFRAID FOR MY LIFE. FOR SCIENCE.  
TA: yeah you’re a diick but not that biig a diick.  
TA: tell me what’2 wrong.  
CG: WHENEVER I ASK YOU TO TELL ME WHAT’S WRONG YOU ACT LIKE I SHOVED MY ENTIRE ARM UP YOUR WASTE CHUTE WITHOUT LUBE.  
TA: ye2 ii’m a bliitheriing hypocriite, chalk iit up two more rea2on2 two hate me  
TA: what’2 up  
CG: WHEN DOES YOUR SHIFT END?  
TA: oh fuck, you found out.  
TA: wtf.  
TA: who talked?  
CG: WAS THERE SOME SECRET “DON’T TELL KARKAT ABOUT THIS” CONSPIRACY?  
TA: not an offiiciial one.  
TA: aha  
TA: equiiu2 ha2 a biig mouth  
CG: YOU ONLY REGULARLY READ MY CONVERSATIONS WITH KANAYA?  
TA: no juiicy tiidbiit2 wiith equiiu2  
TA: u2ually.  
CG: WOW.  
CG: YOU ARE LITERALLY SO AWFUL I DON’T KNOW HOW THE PAIN OF ME STOMACHING YOU HASN’T MADE ME CLAW OUT MY OWN GANDERBULBS.  
CG: AND THEN EAT THEM.  
TA: ff diidn’t do thii2.  
CG: YOU’RE TELLING ME EQUIUS LIED?  
TA: no  
TA: iit’2 ju2t not what you thiink, ok?  
TA: ii’m not her 2lave.  
CG: NO, YOU’RE JUST BREAKING YOUR BACK BECAUSE TRU LUV MEANS BURNING OUT FOR YOUR CAPTAIN.  
CG: SPIN THAT FOR ME IN A WAY THAT DOESN’T SOUND VOMIT INDUCING.  
TA: ff ii2n’t hurtiing me.  
TA: 2he never ha2 and 2he never wiill  
TA: ok?  
TA: you’re about to cau2e a crii2ii2 over liiterally nothiing.  
TA: whiich ii2 typiical vanta2 behaviior but hone2tly. pull your2elf the fuck twogether.  
CG: YOU’RE HELMING AGAINST MEDICAL ADVICE!  
TA: ii am FIINE  
TA: and al2o really bu2y ii don’t have tiime for thii2  
CG: YOU’RE ALWAYS BRAGGING ABOUT YOUR BAJILLION TERABYTES OF PROCESSING POWER, YOU’RE JUST CLOCKING OUT BECAUSE YOU DON’T WANT ME TO BE RIGHT.  
TA: kk.  
TA: ii am actually beggiing you not two 2tart 2hiit.  
TA: liike piicture me all 2incerely cla2piing the meat’2 hand2 and bowiing before you liike ii 2uddenly giive a 2hiit about the mutant me22iiah thiing.  
TA: thii2 ii2 me beggiing.  
TA: plea2e.  
CG: THAT  
CG: IS ACTUALLY THE MOST FRIGHTENING THING YOU’VE EVER SAID TO ME IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE.  
TA: what, wa2 iinvokiing cult iimagery goiing too far?  
TA: ii’ll beg really properly liike you’re holdiing my hu2ktop ho2tage and for 2ome rea2on ii don’t have a backup then.  
TA: the analogy doe2n’t matter, kk, plea2e.  
CG: IT’S BEGGING IN THE FIRST PLACE.  
CG: WHAT ARE YOU SO SCARED OF?  
TA: you matter two me.  
CG: ...YOU THINK SHE’LL KILL ME?  
TA: NO!  
TA: thii2 ii2n’t about her!  
TA: thii2 ha2 nothiing two do wiith her iit never HA2 ii 2WEAR ii’m telliing you the truth  
TA: plea2e.  
TA: do not fuckiing 2tart tryiing two defend my honor, iit’2 embarra22iing.  
CG: I DON’T GET WHAT YOU’RE SO AFRAID OF!  
CG: I DON’T UNDERSTAND!  
CG: IS IT THE POLITICS? SOMETHING’S WRONG?  
CG: YOU’RE TRYING TO FIND THE MOLE?  
CG: THERE’S SOMETHING SO LOOMING AND IMPORTANT THAT YOU CAN’T CHECK OUT OF THE SYSTEMS?  
CG: I HAVE THE SECURITY CLEARANCE TO KNOW, SOLLUX!  
\--twinArmageddons [TA] is offline!--

You’re about to stomp down to the helmsblock and bite him into telling you, damn the irrationality, damn the consequences, you’re going to get some fucking answers, but Feferi interrupts you.

“Karkat,” she says, opening the stairwell door. “We can talk now.”

You scramble to your feet. You should ask how the meeting went - her face betrays nothing. You should apologize for interrupting it in the first place. You should beg forgiveness for yelling at her. You should do any number of things, and you don’t have the energy for any of them.

You take a deep breath. “Tell me what’s wrong with Sollux.”

\---

Feferi takes you to the galley and makes you a cup of tea, ignoring the way everyone skitters nervously around her. You might watch her every move to make sure she doesn’t poison it, just in case, but hey. You have not survived this long without being a little paranoid.

You also take very, very tiny sips, just in case the tea packet or the sugar packet was poisoned beforehand and she’s just been leaving them here for a special occasion. Unlikely, but whatever.

“There is nofin wrong with Sollux,” she says.

“Should we talk in private?”

“Probubbly.”

You follow her back to the conference rooms, not speaking until the door closes softly behind you. “What does he not want me to know, then?”

“I would bet there are a lot of fins he doesn’t want you to know.”

“Why does he need to helm right now. What have you not told me.”

Fef steeples her fingers and presses her lips together. For a few long moments, you think she’s not going to answer you at all. But then, with the practiced neutrality of a skilled politician, she says, “Sollux does not need to helm right now.”

Your pusher clenches. “Then why are you making him?”

“I’m naut.”

It takes concentrated effort not to scream at her. “Equius told him that he needed to rest because of the physical stress. Sollux agreed to that. Then you overrode Equius’ orders. Why would you do that?”

“Sollux asked me to.”

“I - what? Why would he do that? Why would you _listen_?”

“He preseanted a convincing case.”

“He’s a workaholic!” You throw up your hands in frustration. “He thinks if he spends any time outside the systems then the entire war is going to crash and burn! He thinks he has to singlehandedly run all of the tech and surveillance and vetting operations! He’s literally working himself to death and you don’t care!”

“Don’t tell me what I care aboat.”

“It’s because of you!” you shout, and there’s the anger, the itch to sink your fist through a wall. “It’s all fucking you, don’t you get it? Even if you don’t ask it of him out loud, even if you don’t order him to work himself to death he’ll still do it - he’s fucked up, Feferi, he does _stupid_ things when he cares about people, he - you can’t let him. He’s taking dying for you to another level. You can’t let him, he’s _sick_ , he doesn’t know - fuck, do you have any idea how early the Empire propaganda starts? You can’t reinforce this shit!”

Feferi takes a measured breath, and her voice is lower when she speaks again, the fish puns disappearing. “I love Sollux. I have taken responsibility for his happiness and his well being. If helming encroached on either of those things, I would put a stop to it.”

“It’s _literally killing him!_ ”

“He won’t die,” she says coldly. “If your only complaint is about the physical effects, you have nothing to worry about. I’ll strengthen him.”

“No, my complaint is that he’s fucked up mentally and you’re enabling it because it’s convenient, oh, good, Sollux is getting work done, Sollux is being an asset, Sollux is being worth my time - fuck you, Feferi, what are you going to do if he has a burnout you can’t heal? If he ends up pan damaged or dies before you can get to him? You can’t watch him all the time!”

“He won’t.” Feferi sighs. “And I have enough respect for him not to discuss his level of competence behind his back. Unless there’s anything else, we’re finished.”

“How long,” you say. “How long have you two been… how long has he been _serving_ you?”

“Karkat,” she says, gentle but firm. “Get out before you make me angry.”

You go.

\---

You spend a solid hour crying into Kanaya’s shoulder, too tired and wrung-out to hold yourself together. She rubs your back and lets you shake apart, muffling your sobs against her shirt, snotting all over the fabric and fuck, she’s probably going to have to wash this dress now, isn’t she?

Eventually you calm enough to tell her the abridged version of what happened, your chest heaving between words. She traces her fingertips over your temples and the tops of your cheekbones, making these absurdly soothing little clicking noises until you stop hyperventilating. Then she tells you to go talk to Sollux.

You tell her you’ve had enough of having your pusher torn out of your chest for one night. She says that’s all well and good, but you still need to talk to Sollux, and then she shoos you out of her block with one of her handmade blankets wrapped around your shoulders.

Your moirail is the worst.

Sollux spares you the trouble of finding him, at least. When you return to your own block, he’s sitting against your door, his eyes closed. He’s probably been there since he finished his shift, whenever that was. His face is so pale it’s nearly translucent - you swear you can see little threads of red and blue power flickering under his skin.

“You yelled at FF,” he says.

“I was pissed.”

“I told you this didn’t have anything to do with her.”

“Don’t worry. I’m the Second Sufferer. Murdering me would send the wrong message.”

He looks up at you, his eyes duller than they’ve been in a long time, a telltale sign of a massive downswing. When he speaks, there’s no sharp edge to his words, no manufactured cruelty. He just sounds exhausted. “Why do you have to make everything so awful?”

“I’m sorry that me giving a shit inconveniences you.”

“I don’t understand why taking this away from me matters so much to you.” His breath shudders and his throat clicks, soft, the same sound yours makes when you’re desperately holding back tears. “I know you hate me but I didn’t think you hated me like _that_.”

You unlock the door, gripping his arm and dragging him to his feet. “Come inside.”

“I’m not even drunk. You’d think I was drunk. I’d prefer to be drunk, actually. Do you have any soporifics in here?”

“Lay down,” you say, pointing at the reclining platform.

“We’re not doing a feelings jam.”

“It’s not a feelings jam. It’s a normal conversation that happens to center around feelings.”

He doesn’t even pretend to protest; he just lays down and curls up, no effort whatsoever put towards posturing, which means he’s in really bad shape. You toss Kanaya’s blanket over him and pull up a chair, sitting backwards and propping your chin up.

“So,” you say.

“Don’t do the chair thing, I swear to fuck.”

“I am doing the chair thing.”

“Right.”

You wait for him to say something else, counting to sixty. When he doesn’t offer anything, you do instead. “So, you’re mad that I told your girlfriend she’s enabling your self-destructive habits, even though I’m right. Does this mean she’s listening to me?”

“No. But she wants me to set things straight so that you two fighting doesn’t affect our ‘profeseaonal’ lives.”

“Okay. So tell me your side of the story. Good luck convincing me I’m not right.”

His expression doesn’t change at all. Right now his default appears to be tired and sad. “I would really love to be drunk.”

“I don’t keep soporifics in here.”

“Of course you don’t. Why did I ever think you’d know how to party.”

“How to party alone in my block with soporifics and movies to cry over? No thanks.”

He closes his eyes and goes silent again.

“Sollux,” you prompt. “Kanaya told me to talk to you too. She’s going to get on my case if I don’t. We need to talk about what’s wrong, so let’s talk.”

“Tell her we talked and smoothed things over. I’ll tell Fef the same thing. You back off and let me do my job and no one need ever be the wiser.”

“Yeah, that sounds great apart from the fact that you win.”

“That’s what this is about? Winning?”

“You always win whenever it’s anything important. You fucking play people. You have Fef enabling you, Equius bends the knee to her, I’m easy to distract. Whenever anything’s hard or uncomfortable you just sidle your way out of dealing with it and you _always_ get what you want, always.”

“You don’t want me to get what I want,” he says, almost musing. “I guess that’s fairly standard black courtship. The idea is to push me to work harder for what I want, though, not to sabotage me.”

“Not when what you want is hurting you!”

“What do you care whether or not it hurts me?”

You recoil. “ _What?_ ”

“You want me to be in pain,” Sollux says, speaking faster now. “You want me to hurt so I have a reason to keep coming back to you, you want me to need you, you want me to flay myself open for you. You stupid fucking idiot, you project so hard, _Feferi_ is the one damaging me? The _helm_ is me being self-destructive? Fuck you, no, it’s you, breaking myself on your edges and you don’t even stop to think, you don’t even… what do you care if I’m in pain? You don’t care.”

Your mouth opens, but all that comes out is a breathless little puff of air. “Sollux,” you manage.

“It doesn’t matter. I just wish you’d stop going to such fucking lengths to ruin me, meddling with EQ, meddling with FF. What’s fun about it? I thought we could do black but I don’t understand - you keep fucking -”

“I didn’t. Don’t. I don’t. Want that,” you say, your voice cracking. You swipe furiously at your eyes - not now, not now. “What did I do, Sollux? I don’t know what I _did_ to make you think I feel like this.”

“Then how do you feel about me?”

“A lot of different ways, none of which are to _hurt_ you. Not in any way that isn’t enthusiastically consensual, at least.”

“Be specific.”

You turn the chair around and sit properly, leaning forward so you can lay your hand over his. “You drive me fucking crazy,” you say. “You get under my skin in a way that makes me want more, you make me want to do better to prove I can, to prove you wrong. I want to - I want to make you feel _good_ , I want to make you feel like you should strive for more than fate intended. You can be more than that, Sollux, have you really never thought about it? There’s a million different paths your life can take. You’ve got the freedom to choose and you drive me fucking crazy because you’re _wasting it_. You can be anything. More than you are now. Something better than a fucking helmsman.”

His expression changes for the first time, his jaw going slack and eyes brightening with what you’re pretty sure is shock, which - okay, you can work with that. At least he’s listening.

“I don’t want you to just - just waste away powering a ship because that’s what you were taught would give your life meaning. You’ve been fucking panwashed to think that’s all that matters, like you only make a difference if you’re serving Fef and being a fucking _battery_ , but there’s more to life than that. It’s like you don’t even care, it’s like you couldn’t give half a shit about being a troll to begin with. It makes me sick to my stomach to think about. I don’t understand why you’re putting yourself in danger for this when it’s not even close to all life is - is it Fef? Is it the networking? You’re worried people can’t handle it without you?”

Sollux sits up, tossing the blanket away. “Okay,” he says. “This isn’t going to work.”

“I - what? No, we’re finally fucking talking, just talk to me! We can _work it out_ , whatever you’re worried about, there are solutions. Fef’s not going to stop loving you if you don’t helm, we can bring techs in to work on supervisory, you don’t have to do it all alone.”

“Please stop talking.”

“No - you were going to tell me what it is, why you’re trapped. It’s _important_.”

“I am not trapped when I helm.”

“Your body is _strapped down_. You have tubes hooking into your nervous system. The strain is fucking up your heart, your muscles - how many horror stories have you heard about troll pans melting because of rigging malfunctions? Or trolls burning out because of the demand? Helmsmen burn out in four sweeps at best when they’re permanently grafted, temp helms only last a little longer and only if they don’t pull the stupid shit you’ve been pulling. You _leave your fucking body_ when you helm, how is any of that not being trapped?”

“How is leaving my body being trapped?”

“You’re strapped down!” You have no idea what he’s not hearing. “The pain alone, needing to output enough energy to pilot a ship…”

“The pain is manageable with a good helmstech. Zahhak is good at his job. And as for the lifespan issue, it’s not a problem for me. As I’ve already told you. Repeatedly.”

“Sollux, the only reason you’re so obsessed with helming is because you’re _sick_.”

He starts to laugh, low and grating and awful, a serrated blade pulled across violin strings. “I mean, you’re right,” he says, “but not in the way you think you are.”

“Then in what way am I right?”

The laughter continues more softly; he’s almost choking on it. “I’m so fucking stupid. I can’t believe I let this go on for this long, I really thought you were being cruel on purpose. I thought it was part of the game. It’s _worse_ that you think you’re helping me.”

“I don’t know why you won’t even try to listen to me.”

“Because you’re wrong. You’re always wrong. Fuck, I’m so stupid. Okay. Okay. We have to break up.”

“You’re… breaking up with me because I don’t want you to be a helmsman.”

“We have to stop talking entirely, actually. Drop the pitch, drop the friendship, just - leave it here. Fuck. I should have sweeps ago. I didn’t realize you didn’t - hah. Wow, fuck.” He staggers to his feet, his gait unsteady, like he actually is drunk. “We’re just gonna make each other miserable. Don’t talk to me anymore.”

“What the fuck?” You follow him as he bolts for the door, reaching the handle first and holding it shut. “You can break off a quadrant, fine, if it’s making you unhappy that’s fine, but you can’t just end a sweeps-long friendship without letting me have a say.”

“Watch me,” he says, making a valiant effort to shove past you. “Let me go.”

“Sollux.”

He lays his forehead against the wall and laughs again. “Once we can find the right surgical and maintenance staff, I’m going to be permanently grafted. The only reason I wasn’t to begin with is because Equius is nervous about doing the surgeries on his own. Helming was always the endgame.”

Your body goes very, very cold. “No.”

“I’ve had a long time to think about it. You’ve said it yourself - the temp rigging isn’t equipped for the load I’m taking on. It’s more likely to malfunction, it doesn’t have nutrition or hydration shunts and intravenous fluids are a pain in the ass. It’s made for small ships. Ships that don’t last a lifetime.”

“ _This_ ship won’t last a lifetime! Fef will get something bigger, custom crafted, it doesn’t matter - you at least should _wait_ until we’ve won the war-”

“You’re not going to win the war without me in the systems,” he says. “It’s a fact. You’re just not.”

“You don’t _know_ that.”

“I know more than you think I do.” He wrenches your hand from the doorknob with a twist of psionics. “Unfortunately that means I also know you’re not gonna get your head out of your ass long enough to stop fucking blubbering, so - we need to stop. I’m only worth something to you if I’m not a helmsman. I’ll save you the trouble of all that fucking grief.”

The door opens with another psionic wrench, the hinges creaking dangerously. He strides into the hallway, his shoulders hunched, his horns sparking, and you follow him.

“Like anyone who gives a fuck about you would be able to stand it!” you shout. “Like anyone wants to see you strung up pan dead in an engine room! Like I’m the only one who’s bothered by it, _fuck you_ , Sollux, you want to die? No, it’s socially acceptable self-destruction, he’s shredding his limbs for a greater cause! Blinding himself for a greater cause! Shattering his entire fucking life for a greater cause! You’re an _idiot_ , don’t tell me you can _ruin yourself_ and I’m not allowed to _grieve!_ ”

Sollux outstretches his arms to the sides and suddenly the walls in front of you crumple inward like crushed tin cans, the reinforced metal stretching and warping. The hallway closes up, reshaped with a twisted dead end halfway through like he’s sculpting clay, and you can’t press through to follow him.

\---

CG: YOU CAN’T PERMANENTLY GRAFT SOLLUX.  
CG: YOU HAVE TO GET HIM A  
CG: A MENTAL HEALTH EVALUATION OR SOMETHING, I KNOW THOSE ARE NEW AND PRETTY MUCH BULLSHIT BUT  
CG: YOU CAN’T PERMANENTLY GRAFT HIM.  
CG: HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT HE’S DOING.  
CG: TELL HIM HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT HE’S DOING.  
CT: D→ Why do you e%pect me to sort out your relationship drama  
CG: I DON’T!  
CG: I EXPECT YOU TO HAVE THE BASIC DECENCY NOT TO RUIN HIS LIFE!

TA: can you tell kk two 2top beiing 2uch a fuckiing drama queen.  
TA: ju2t.  
TA: explaiin the ba2iic2 of how helmiing work2 or 2omethiing, he ha2 all the2e totally backward2 archaiic notiion2 and he’2 awful.  
CT: D→ Why do you e%pect me to sort out your relationship drama  
TA: becau2e you love talkiing mechaniic2 and tech wiith anyone who’ll lii2ten  
TA: and becau2e you 2uck at 2iittiing by and watchiing kk be wrong about thiing2.  
TA: or anyone be wrong about thiing2.

AC: :33 pawspictice fur them!  
CT: D→ Abso100tely not  
AC: :33 do it  
CT: D→ No  
AC: :33 yes  
CT: D→ No  
AC: :33 yes  
CT: D→ No  
AC: :33 yes  
CT: D→ Stop this foolishness  
AC: :33 no  
AC: :33 why won’t you do it?  
CT: D→ They are beneath me  
CT: D→ Their petty lowb100d quarrels are beneath me  
CT: D→ I do not concern myself with the relationship affairs of commoners  
AC: :33 lol!! bs!!  
AC: :33 karkat outranks you AND sollux would outrank you if helm titles weren’t wonky  
AC: :33 you’re just being stubborn  
CT: D→ I am not  
AC: :33 yes you are  
CT: D→ Stop  
AC: :33 i hate to say this but mew are actually the best purrson fur the job!  
AC: :33 as long as mew stay calm anyway  
AC: :33 mew know how sollux’s tech works and mew know how karkitty flying off the handle works  
AC: :33 trust me i am a FURRY good shippurr  
CT: D→ I do not want to  
AC: :33 i know my shit boi  
AC: :33 if you pawspistice i will not make you try to rp for a whole WEEK  
CT: D→ …  
CT: D→ Fine  
AC: :33 yessssssss

\--centaursTesticle [CT] has created group memo Why me\--  
\--centaursTesticle [CT] has added twinArmageddons [TA], carcinoGeneticist [CG]\--  
CT: D→ I know both of your schedules are free right now  
CT: D→ Meet me in the conference room  
TA: wtf ii2 thii2.  
TA: eat my a22, ii don’t want two look at hiim let alone talk two hiim.  
CG: YEAH SEE HE DOESN’T WANT TO TALK TO ME THIS WILL ACCOMPLISH NOTHING.  
CT: D→ You will come to the conference room  
TA: biite me  
CG: THIS IS STUPID.  
CT: D→ If you’ll pardon the vulgar language  
CT: D→ Suck it up

 

You go to the conference room when Equius messages Kanaya, and Kanaya meddles like she does best. You half-expect the place to be empty when you arrive, so you’re surprised to see Sollux there - it’s been three nights since the blowup and neither of you has so much as glimpsed the other. He’s frowning, surly, which means Equius probably threatened to revoke helm privileges unless he showed up. _Good._

“Sit,” Equius says, pointing to the chairs around the table.

You glare at Sollux until he sinks into a seat, and then you settle across from him, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You are going to talk.” Equius stands by the door like a hulking bodyguard, apparently too concerned with keeping you inside to situate himself between you like a physical barrier.

“He doesn’t listen!” Sollux hisses.

“You are both going to talk, and when one of you is speaking, the other is going to listen.”

It’s no more than you’ve demanded when combing through crew disputes, but the condescension is still enough to make you want to leave. “I didn’t do anything wrong! Sollux is the one who…”

“Be quiet,” Equius says. His calm is unnerving enough that you listen. “You will talk about your own emotions. You will not hurl baseless accusations about your partner’s intentions or feelings.”

Sollux bares his teeth. “Like I’m going to open up to this jackass.”

“Because you can destroy your relationship more thoroughly than you already have?”

He blinks.

“This isn’t about our fucking relationship,” you say. “Everyone thinks it’s about the pitch, it’s not, it’s about the _helm_.”

“This is about how the helm affects your relationship,” Equius replies, still impassive, like a pond on a still day. “Nothing changes if you do not talk.”

“Nothing needs to change.” Sollux aims his glare in the direction of the door rather than at you. “I said I wasn’t going to talk to him anymore, I was _fine_ with that.”

“Yes. You sounded fine with it when you messaged me.”

You blink. “You messaged him?”

“Fuck off.”

Equius huffs through his nose. “Now talk.”

Sollux doesn’t volunteer anything. You’re still reasonably sure this is useless, but you uncross your arms and lay them on the table anyway, trying to open yourself to him. “I’m worried about you.”

“You’re being stupid.”

“It’s Karkat’s turn to speak,” Equius interrupts.

Sollux glowers, but he doesn’t stand up and he doesn’t lash out with psionics and he doesn’t say anything else, which you take as invitation to continue.

“I know that you need to - need to protect people. I know you don’t put much stock in your own health or safety. I know that you’ll do whatever it takes to do what needs to be done. That makes you… incredible, and infuriating, but all those things combined make you unhealthy. And helming is like - a means to an end, I understand, I know it lets you work faster and harder and feel like you’re maximizing your potential, but it’s like you’re in such a rush to hurt yourself that you don’t care about the long-term consequences.”

Sollux closes his eyes, but he doesn’t talk, so you forge on. “Feferi likes giving you what you want. She thinks that’s what it takes to make you happy, she doesn’t - I don’t - I don’t think you’re happy. And I know you know there’s a huge element of indoctrination when it comes to helming, of being told you can only be worthwhile if you’re a machine. And I know you’re not thinking about the other futures you could have or all the things you’ll have taken from you or the danger you’d put yourself in. You’d be making yourself a computer, Sollux, I know that by itself might not bother you but have you thought about - what happens if people code to overwrite your thoughts, or force you to do things you don’t want to do, or you realize you miss having a body and it’s too late? Helming is a job, not an identity.”

“Helming is my identity,” Sollux says, and the words sting like a slap. “Being a helmsman, being a ship. Being a computer. Being a machine. Not being a troll. That’s all that matters.”

Your fists clench. “But why?”

“I thought… that you knew how important this was to me, and you were just being cruel on purpose. Knowing how much you fucking hate helmsmen makes it worse. I can’t do anything about it. I only matter to you as long as you see me as a troll and not a ship, if I’m a ship then I’m - different. Lost. Worth nothing. You can’t sustain a rivalry like that. You can’t even sustain a friendship like that.”

“But I don’t understand why you feel like you have to _sacrifice_ everything.”

“Sacrifice what, KK?” He spreads his arms. “This? This fucked up, useless body? I don’t _do_ anything with it besides pailing. When I’m not plugged in, I’m on my husktop doing the exact same things I would be doing plugged in, except slower and with more mistakes. I’m not losing anything if I’m grafted in, I’m gaining everything.”

“That sounds like a line straight out of propaganda schoolfeeding.”

“I’m fucking miserable, KK.” He folds his arms on the table and lays down his head, his voice coming out muffled. “I’m fucking miserable all the time. I have been my entire life. The meat doesn’t _work_. My pan - I can’t wrangle it into doing anything I want it to, I can’t stop the headaches or the sparking or the exhaustion, I can’t be anything. When I’m plugged in it’s like being healed. Suddenly I can think and do everything I want to and everything I need to with room to spare, suddenly I can tap into who I am when I’m something other than miserable. The meat doesn’t fucking matter when I’m plugged in. Migraines and pain and downswings, the systems pick up the slack - it’s like having a pan that _works_. A body that works. This one doesn’t.”

“Sollux, I…”

“You don’t understand anything about it. Yeah, I’m a computer, I’m a machine, I’m a fucking battery, but I’m _me_. The pan’s consciousness integrates with the systems. The sentience of the ship is all me, the rest of the systems are just an amplifier, this huge space I get to occupy however the fuck I want to - it’s not a muffler, a dampener, it doesn’t _hurt_ me. You just don’t like it because you see the meat’s husk and you think that’s me when it’s not.”

His voice is shaking, almost plaintive. “I hate recalibration, I hate being in this body, I hate every time I have to unplug and deal with all the crossed wires in me on top of the shit you need to do to stay alive. I hate it. I hate that I have something that heals me and you won’t let me take it because you think I’m _better_ like this, you don’t - you don’t see anything that goes on in my head. You think I don’t know I’m sick? I’m fucking aware of it every hour, every minute, every fucking second, you think I don’t know I’m incompetent and everyone has to pick up my slack? And you’re all oh, Sollux can’t avoid his problems by becoming a ship, Sollux needs to love himself, Sollux needs to accept his own flaws, but _why_? I have a chance not to be miserable all the time and you won’t let me take it on the off chance I could learn not to be miserable in this body? I can’t. I’ve tried. You think I’m killing myself when that’s not even remotely it. I’m making myself _better_.”

Hot yellow tears track their way over his cheeks, and you stand up. “Sollux - fuck, shit. Can I hold you?”

“Is your moirail gonna come after me if you do?”

“Not even remotely.”

“Then. Okay.”

You can’t wiggle both of you onto the chair, so you sink onto the floor and pull him into your lap, rocking him in your arms, heedless of the way Equius is staring at the ceiling and shifting his feet like he’s willing the floor to swallow him up.

“Helming is traditionally a tool of oppression and enslavement,” you say softly, and Sollux stiffens in your arms. “No, wait, wait, shh, I swear I heard you, just - there’s a lot of - a lot of bad shit that goes along with it. A lot of bad history. A lot of bad implications. And I don’t want you choosing this because you think you have to repeat that history.”

Sollux chokes out a sound that’s half-laugh, half-sob. “Helming fucking sucks as a practice, KK. It’s totally fucked up. I wouldn’t wish nonconsensual grafting on my worst enemy.”

“But you still want this.”

“I like being a ship. I like being tapped into the systems. I like not having to worry about the meat. I like the information flow, I like the processing power, I like how it feels. How I feel. It’s not some grand sacrificial gesture where I feel like I have to give everything up. I just - I like being a ship.”

You run your fingers through his hair, swipe your sleeve over his wet cheeks. “It freaks me out thinking about you - you strung up, immobile. It freaks me out thinking that if you realized you regretted your decision, you wouldn’t be able to change it.”

“I’m not going to regret my decision.”

“But if you ever did for some reason. And it freaks me out thinking about something happening to the systems and you not being able to pull out of them - what if you get hit by a virus, or something shorts them out, or they all stop working and then you can’t escape the rigging…”

“KK. You’re catastrophizing.”

“Just. Would you ever consider semi-permanent rigging? That can be designed, right? Something with the functions necessary to keep you alive if you’re hooked in for long periods of time, but without the lack of escape routes?”

He wipes his eyes and squints. “You’re just suggesting that so it’s easier for us to pail, aren’t you.”

“What - no! It’s not about…” You trail off. “Easier pailing is a bonus, though.”

He snickers. “Hey. Hey, look at me. I wouldn’t even be immobile. At least, it doesn’t feel like being immobile.” His hand comes up, palm laid over your chest. “Your pusher’s technically immobile in your chest, right? It doesn’t move. But your body’s still going places. The ship is my body, the meat is the core of it. I don’t feel trapped when I’m plugged in. I’m _flying._ ”

“But would you ever consider a semi-permanent rig?”

“Hmm.” Sollux wiggles out of your lap and pokes his head over the table. “Hey, EQ! Is semi-permanent rigging possible?”

Equius’ voice is hilariously strained when he responds. “Ah - yes, I believe something could be… arranged.”

“Then I’ll think about it. But only if you’re gonna let me stay plugged in save emergencies. And pailing.”

“I make no guarantees that I won’t be a huge pain in your ass.”

The light’s returning to Sollux’s eyes now, even though they’re bruisy with post-crying exhaustion. “So - we can make this work? Even if I’m a helmsman? We can still be friends?”

“Don’t think this means I’m going to enable one hundred percent of the stupid things you do to kill pain from here on out, forever,” you say. “What kind of kismesis would I be if I did?”

He laughs. “Fuck, okay. Yeah. Okay. We’re okay.”

Yeah. Alright. Things aren't perfect and you're gonna have to talk more, you're gonna have to redefine a hell of a lot, but...

You’re okay.


End file.
